The Master Criminal of the World
by The Emotional Robot
Summary: Young Sherlock decides he does not understand Santa. Mycroft has other ideas and so tells a very interesting tale.


**The Master Criminal of the World**

When Sherlock was young he never truly understood the distinction between adults and children. At the age of six he was able to speak Greek, Arabic, English, Italian, Welsh, Mandarin, Japanese and his native tongue of French. He could tell you the exact amount (down to the closest Nano litre) of hydrochloric acid required to remove the rust from his father's watch and not the metal underneath (Mycroft had lost a lot of watches for this portion of knowledge). He could comprehend Einstein's Theory of Relativity, Hawking's views on the universe (he'd read the books - both of them - he believed them "challenging but enjoyable") and Quantum theory. He'd even tested out the Schrödinger's cat experiment but only for twenty minutes - he wasn't cruel. In conclusion the cat was most definitely alive if the scratches were anything to go by. At five years old Sherlock had even deduced that his Uncle Siegfried had had an affair with the butler needless to say Uncle Tobias had not been happy (a shame really - he rather liked Toby).

But still he could not understand why adults - and parents in particular - chose to patronise children and to tell ridiculous lies to them such as the Tooth Fairy, that there were monsters under the bed and most disgustingly of all that there was a fat man who brought presents to only good children (apparently blowing up your elder brother's room while he was asleep was "bad". Who knew?).

He just did not comprehend it! Especially not this Santa. He thought this myth pointless, idiotic and disrespectful to children everywhere. It never occurred to him that his perception of the world around him was not incumbent of most six and a half year olds.

Sherlock did not understand the excitement about Santa and he decided he never would.

Mycroft on the other hand, had different ideas.

For he saw how upset Mummy was that Sherlock did not take such pleasure as he had with Christmas. Mycroft, of course, did not mention how he had not truly understood Santa either and had merely played along for Mummy's sake but he endeavoured to encourage Sherlock to enjoy this tradition. And so he did what all 16 year olds who one day will direct the political stage would do in such a situation, he plotted and planned until he had a moment very similar to a certain bathing Ancient Greek philosopher.

That night was Christmas Eve and Mummy Holmes once again placed the stocking on the grate and went to tuck her youngest son into bed. Tonight however, from the side of the bedroom door she heard her eldest telling a very interesting story.

For Mycroft had initiated his plan. While carefully forcing Sherlock into his pyjamas (new ones - another Christmas tradition), because even at six and a half sleep was still "dull", he told him the tale of the Master Criminal of the World.

"You see Sherlock; there is a man who is the scourge of the Western World. He is so able at his chosen - shall we say - _profession _that he is able to work only once per year. He even announces it! He tells everyone that on the 24th December he will be travelling the world choosing homes where he will ply his trade. In the dead of night when all are asleep, tucked up in bed and no one is stirring not even a mouse, he breaks in down the chimney and stealthily steals…"

He was interrupted by an indignant young voice from under the covers.

"You're talking about Santa!"

"Ah you have heard of him? Is he not the most vile, virulent villain you know? Are you not horrified by his crimes?"

"I always thought he was just a dull, jolly old man who ate one too many mince pies."

"No that is what he wants you to think. It is all just a clever marketing campaign. All a disguise. He has managed to convince the adult population that he does not exist and convinced the young who know of his existence, that he is a kindly man. In fact he is the Master Criminal of the World with a rap sheet as long as his "nice list"."

Inwardly wincing at the atrocious Americanism, Mycroft carried on.

"After violating the safety and privacy of people's households by ingeniously using chimneys, he proceeds to steal cookies, cakes, mince pies, milk and even various alcoholic beverages. He then - and this is the true cheek of the fellow - bribes his victims into not pressing charges by "giving gifts". Truthfully he's no better than a mugger taking your wallet and handing over five pounds to appease you. Atrocious!

When he's quite finished trespassing and eating other people's hard earned food, the very same people may I add, who are sleeping peacefully just rooms away, Santa then returns to his sleigh and reindeer. His flying reindeer. FLYING REINDEER! Isn't that obviously evidence to weird, cruel experimentation on poor defenceless animals? He has these vulnerable creatures tested on by scientist elves without a thought for their welfare. And don't even get me started on those elves! Working 365 and ¼ days per year for all eternity, slaving away for nothing but candy canes and baubles. They're one more Health and Safety Violation from calling in the unions. Despicable I tell you!

Add onto these charges of breaking and entering; trespassing; bribery; theft; animal cruelty; and Trade Union Violations; the drunk driving from drinking various alcoholic beverages - Sherry being a particular favourite - and passing across International Borders illegally, you have the Master Criminal of the World!"

Then a quiet hesitant voice came from the small figure with just his wild black hair and clear blue eyes poking out from under the covers, asking "If he's so bad why does no one arrest him?"

Mycroft smiled. Sherlock had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Success. He felt like skipping around the room but that would not be dignified, sophisticated nor more importantly behaving like a Holmes.

Instead Mycroft replied: "How can anyone arrest him? Most of the population believe he is a figment of the imagination. And those who do know of his existence are unable to issue a warrant as they are unable to give his name! He uses various aliases including just to name a few: Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, and even St Nicholas. And then he never gives his address! They only know he is in a cold area of the North Hemisphere. His home could be anywhere from Lapland to the North Pole. It's impossible! Anyway who would want to face disappointed children everywhere when he was arrested? No Sherlock, no one could ever arrest him. But goodnight. Pleasant dreams and don't worry yourself his persona requires him to be nice to children. Just remember to be wary if you ever see him, after all he is a known criminal. It would be safest if you went straight to sleep."

Leaving the room Mycroft knew Sherlock believed him and more importantly, he knew full well that as Sherlock had no sense of danger and if he did it was merely associated with fun that he would try to catch Santa in the act so to speak. It was therefore no surprise to find Sherlock fast asleep behind the sofa, torch in hand in the morning. What was surprising, however, was the gift Sherlock received of a small magnifying glass with a gift tag written in unrecognisable handwriting. While Mycroft was intrigued by this mystery, Sherlock was more than happy with the gift but more importantly with the message itself. For written on the tag was simply:

To The World's Only Consulting Detective

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

From The Master Criminal of the World

**A/N Disclaimer: Santa baby I know you're not evil so please come to my house tonight. However what I'd really want this year is a few reviews for this fic. Thanks in advance.**

**And it leads me to have only this to say:**

**Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. x**


End file.
